


Soup or Salad?

by CherryRedBomb



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brief canon-typical violence, F/M, Humor, M/M, alternating povs, brief sam winchester pov but mainly cas and dean, canon-compliant-ish?, cas still has the pimpmobile because I said so, takes place in some ambiguous s15 timeline pre-confession, they're still hunters/an angel/etc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29804094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryRedBomb/pseuds/CherryRedBomb
Summary: Why a blind date? Sam and Eileen witness nonsense and set them up to help sort it out. They don't orchestrate any of the following, they just know something like it will happen based on the sheer facts of who Dean and Cas are.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/OMC, Dean Winchester/OFC, background sam winchester/eileen - Relationship
Comments: 43
Kudos: 153





	Soup or Salad?

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post:(https://thatisahotsoup.tumblr.com/post/644242475145379840/there-should-have-been-an-episode-where-dean-and).
> 
> Stream thatisahotsoupernatural on desticule tumblr.com & Special shout-outs to Leo & Bri (cor-aeterna on Tumblr) for being my betas on this <3

**5:00 pm -**

Dean’s in the garage, has just turned on Baby and is letting the engine warm up and run for a moment, when Cas opens the door from the bunker and steps out. He sees the glint of keys in his hand and follows the movement to meet his eyes when he raises them in a wave. 

“Heya Cas,” he says, “where uh, where ya headed?”

That damn head tilt, so familiar after all these years. “Did Sam and Eileen not tell you? I’ve also been set-up on a—”finger quotes, he’s breaking out all the classics —  “‘blind date’ today. I knew that was where you were headed, so I thought they would’ve shared that information with you as well.”

Dean refuses to examine the little trip his heart’s just done. He also decides not to consider why Sam and Eileen would’ve withheld that info. He’s got a hot date himself, like Cas just said. Now is  _ not _ the time for introspection. And anyway, when has that ever been something Dean really does? 

What he does next is this:

Half-smile sincere as he can make it. “Yeah, well—I better get going for my own anyhow. Knock em’ dead, Cas! I don’t call you my devastatingly handsome friend for nothing.”

A finger gun over the shoulder, and then he turns and gets into the Impala without an answer. He waits a moment longer, watches Cas get behind the wheel of his Pimpmobile (though he hates them calling it that, he calls it Alfred —  in response, Dean tells him ‘Alfred the Pimpmobile’ and cracks jokes about Batman that make Eileen laugh). 

He presses the garage button — Sam installed the automatic system one day after he got fed up lifting it — and smoothly reverses. At the pull-out for the main road, he turns right. If his eyes keep flicking up to the rearview mirror more often than they should, well, who’s to know? 

After a moment, he sees Cas roll up. He turns left. 

**\---**

**5:30 pm -**

When Castiel arrives, coaxing Alfred to a stop in a not-too-distant parking lot, he is surprised by the decor and appearance of the restaurant that Sam and Eileen have sent him to. Despite its name “The French Laundry,” there seems to be nothing reminiscent of a laundromat like those he knew in his years with the Winchesters or while human, nor is there anything to suggest inspiration from the country of France except for the baguette that a waitress brings to the table once he’s seated. 

Anyway. Cas is either early, or his date is late. Sam told him that Eileen had called ahead to arrange things and he’d only need to tell the waitstaff his name and they’d ensure he met his match. 

Now he sits at the empty table and stares at the baguette sitting between the two glasses of water the waitress had also brought. It looks appealing enough, but he can’t help but think he could’ve, or that he has, baked something better in the bunker’s kitchen with Dean and Jack.

Finally, he tears a chunk off, smears on a bit of a butter, and eats. With his dwindling grace, consumption is always an interesting event. This time, the warm buttery flakiness comes through and he smiles, closing his eyes to enjoy it. 

He opens them when a deep voice rivaling his own speaks his name: “Castiel?”

Looking up, Cas is pleasantly surprised to find an attractive man looking down. Dean’s voice saying  _ Knock him dead _ echoes in his head from earlier — did he know, actually? The man is wearing a black, fitted leather jacket and a close-cropped black haircut. His dark eyes seem to sparkle. Cas stands awkwardly, holding out a hand.

“That’s my name,” he says, shaking hands with him, “but you can call me Cas.” 

“Cas,” the man seems to roll the name around behind a crooked smile, “I like that.” He points a hitchhiker thumb back at himself. “The name’s Abel.” 

They both take their seats and the waitress is there almost supernaturally quick. 

Cas is still eyeing him a little suspiciously after their introduction, mind roaming through thoughts of Cain and Adam, but no warning bells go off beyond the name. After a long delayed moment, he snorts at the thought of Sam and Eileen planning this — accidentally interrupting Abel giving the waitress his order.

Abel frowns, “Got some joke I’m missing there, big guy?” 

Cas realizes he has no idea whether Abel’s a hunter or not, and no idea how to ask subtly, so he angles for a sanitized life-story as they begin to trade conversation back and forth. Abel turns out to be a mechanic in the next town over, with a specialty in motorcycles. Cas talks around the snort explanation, saying something vague and bland about a religious upbringing, before he tells him that he used to be a soldier, still feels like one sometimes, but that he’s looking to settle down with his son. 

Cas catches a moment of shock in Abel’s eyes, but he takes it in stride, and Cas appreciates that. When Abel tells him about a current Harley-Davidson he’s restoring back at the shop, there’s such animation in his eyes and gestures that Cas imagines Jack watching him captivated with a smile. 

The initial talk slows, and Cas hurries to fill the silence. 

  
“Here,” he grabs a slice of the baguette and practically shoves it in Abel’s direction, “you should try the bread — ”

Except he really does shove it, so aggressively, in fact, that he knocks over Abel’s glass of water. It was still mostly full, and so immediately it washes out over the side of the table and into his lap. 

“Agh — ” He stands quickly, and Cas moves to do so too, tablecloth in hand, right in front of a waiter with a purposeful stride. They trip over Cas’s outstretched foot right into Abel, with a tray full of milkshakes and smoothies. Together, some awful pink, orange, and brown mixture splashes over onto his chest, an unfortunate white tee now exposed beneath that black leather jacket turning every color but white. 

Cas helps the waiter up, apologizing profusely, and then turns to Abel, still with the outstretched tablecloth — “...sorry?”

**\---**

**6:15 pm -**

Dean lounges back in the booth, chuckling sincerely at a joke that Cass just told.

Yeah. Cass. He bets that Sam and Eileen got a real kick out of that. 

"Cassidy," she had smiled, "but I'd prefer if you called me Cass."

Dean had choked on his drink. Cassie. Cas. Cass. Lord help him, he had thought before he could help it, and then his mind wandered away, before he deliberately remembered he didn't give a rat's ass about Chuck. And that other thing, but we weren’t thinking about that right now either. 

Now he drags a fry through ketchup and adds it into his final bite of burger. Cass is holding up her end of the conversation nicely, and she’s in the middle of a story about this patient of hers. She works at a local nursing home and well, clearly this guy would’ve been at least a couple decades older than them, but if Rufus and Bobby had gone back in time and had a love child, well—that would be him. The thought makes him sad and sentimental in a warm, bittersweet way. 

“So he really adopted all you guys?” Dean says, leaning in to sip his drink. “Sounds like someone I used to know.”

“Yeah, basically,” Cass smiles, and it’s a wide gummy smile that makes Dean grin in automatic response.“The moment we came to work with any kind of trouble, he could see it on our faces. He would listen, make us laugh with that sharp wit of his, and you’d go home in the morning wondering who was taking care of who.” 

Impossibly, her smile widens even more as she glances back down to her food, and it’s softer now in a way that makes Dean feel almost as if he’s intruding. He nods, still smiling back, but averting his eyes out the window. And hey—hey, wait—

“Cass,” he says, still feeling like he’s trying the name out, “you know I mentioned that black beauty outside was my Baby right? It looks like someone’s sniffing around it and I just want to go check things out real quick—you mind?”

She just shakes her head, one hand over her now full mouth, and the other waves him towards the door.

“Thanks sweetheart,” he winks at her and slides out of his seat. 

Sometimes Dean wonders, when so many monsters and bad characters seem to know them, if it’s a good idea to keep driving something as distinctive as Baby. When these kinds of thoughts cross his mind, though, he rarely entertains them, and wonders if he’s been possessed. 

This is one of those times, but he’s entertaining the thought. There’s a deep alley next to this diner, cuz of course there is, and it’s a brisk evening without too many people around. He does a full circuit of Baby and almost doesn’t notice it—a folded piece of paper shoved under the windshield wiper.

_ YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID. _

Ah, nice. Very cryptic. Could be anyone, almost. He’s got a knife on him like always, and a gun tucked into the back of his jeans. On a hunch, he unlocks the Impala, pops the glove box, and pulls out a machete that he then holds inside his jacket.

Through the window, Cass catches his eye and waves, looking quizzically at him. He holds up his index finger, the universal sign for  _ wait a sec _ , and then gives a thumbs up. 

He’ll check out the alley and if it’s nothing, he’ll go back in. The date’s been going well so far, Dean thinks, though he can’t help wondering about Cas and how his date is going too. They’ll talk later, though. Maybe.

Dean steps into the alley, alert, eyes darting about. There’s a dumpster, a side door for the diner presumably, and on the other side, a town office building stretches a few surprising stories up with a rickety fire escape on the side. The alley itself stretches on, opening out onto another dim, distant street. 

He takes a few more steps in, grip still tight on the machete, and the shadow of the building envelops him. The sun is low in the sky, and doesn’t reach this far. 

A woman’s voice sounds off above him and with control, he keeps himself from whipping out the machete. 

A quick glance around leads him to see a figure perched on the previously empty fire escape. 

Seeing that he’s spotted them, they rise with uneasy grace and vault over the edge, dropping a story or so and rolling to their feet, seemingly unharmed. 

Well, no point in hiding actually—Dean pulls out the machete and points with it.

“Who are you?”

“Aw c’mon,” she pouts, “you don’t know me?”

She steps closer and Dean steps back warily. His eyes have adjusted now and he racks his brain for monstrous dark-haired women they might’ve crossed. They’re circling each other now, and from the way she sniffs the air and stares at him hungrily, he’s guessing he was right to grab the machete. A vamp, surely?

Wait. It’s been fifteen years almost, fifteen damn years, but he thinks he’s figured it out. 

“Jenny?” he asks.

She fangs out and hisses in anger, wordlessly answering two of his questions. Huh. 

**\---**

**6:30 -**

Not that Cas thinks one would ever be wasted on something as mundane as this, but it's a miracle that they are still on this date.

When their meals came, the topic had been family, and after Cas waxed poetic about Jack, Abel had taken his turn talking about his darling sister-in-law.    
  
“What’s her name?” Cas had asked, smiling and nodding along and giving Abel all his genuine attention. 

“Oh!” Abel had paused, smiling. “It’s Colette.” 

Cas had been so startled, he upended the table by accident. The waitress had still been standing nearby and witnessed this, so she had been so kind as to put in an order to remake Abel’s meal. Cas had told them not to bother with his. 

The stains currently seeping into his trenchcoat are so bad, he's not certain if the bit of mojo he still has will be enough to clean them. And yes, laundry, but he doesn't like having tide pods in the bunker after Jack caught wind of that trend. 

Abel has since excused himself to the bathroom to try to clean up a little. Cas awkwardly half-stood as if to help. With no words, Abel made it clear that would not be necessary. 

Now he waits, idly stirring a spoon in the coffee he decided to order. He spears a surviving piece of salad and feels like he's chewing a science project. 

Abel returns then, still dappled in an unfortunate array of tomato soup, milkshake, smoothie, and water. There's something different about him, but Cas can't quite pick it out yet. 

He sits down gracefully, seemingly more relaxed than before (and he’d been plenty stiff after everything). He seems more animated again as well. Certainly friendlier towards Cas. 

Cas takes a sip of his coffee, studying Abel with narrowed eyes. He had been in the bathroom a long while. His clothing seems just as messy and he seems much less bothered by it. Cas sighs. 

Rudely, he interrupts Abel’s chatter: “Who are you?”

Immediately Abel’s expression sours. “Was I really that obvious? I knew I wasn’t your type before, darling, but I was hoping we could have a wee bit of fun first.” There’s a Scottish lilt to his voice now. Cas hates that it actually sounds quite nice with his deep timbre.

“Rowena.”

“Aye, it would be your pleasure,” she says, stretching back and rolling her neck luxuriously. “Ah, nothing like the feel of leather on flesh. I miss it.” 

“Why?”

“Well dearie, leather can be quite nice— ”

He groans, “—no, Rowena. Why are you  _ here _ ?”

“Oh come on!” She cries, leaning forward on the table. Cas leans back in his seat. “Don’t tell me you think I’m not keeping tabs on you all. You’re all a fat lot of trouble, you know!”

Cas stares at her.

“I’ve got some agents of Hell in town, is all I’ll say,” she says, spreading her hands wide. “Someone happened to pop downstairs and let me know the hysterics of today, and I thought I’d watch some daytime TV. Then when I saw poor Abel here call his friend, I figured I’d make a visit and put him out of his misery until his ‘emergency’ call came through. Oh, and he did make a call to a friend to bail him out by the way—that’s what that means.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard what Metatron did to me, Rowena,” Cas says, sighing. “I’m popped culture savvy now. I know what a fake emergency call means.” 

“Anyway, if you won't indulge me as your date, tell me this," Rowena says, leaning forward on the table again. “It must’ve been a worse tiff than I thought for today to happen—why isn’t Dean the one sitting across from you right now?” 

“Go  _ back _ to Hell, Rowena.”

At that moment, the waitress comes by to check in, and they both look up. She lets them know Abel’s food is almost done. 

Cas leans over towards her, “Could you actually get that re-order to-go? And bring the bill, please?”

She smiles in affirmation and spins away back towards the kitchens. 

At that moment, Abel’s phone starts to buzz on the table. Rowena smirks at Castiel.

“Saved by the bell,” he says, deadpan.

“Goodbye, Tweetie Pie,” Rowena sings at him. “Tell Samuel and Eileen I say hello.” She winks, and then Abel’s eyes glow purple briefly. After a moment, he shakes his head and looks gratefully at the phone. 

“You don’t have to answer that,” Cas says kindly, “I know and I understand. Your food is on the way in a to-go, and I’m covering the meals. It was nice to talk to you, Abel.” 

**\---**

**6:45 pm**

Dean has  _ just _ knocked her down to her knees and is raising the machete to strike when he hears her.

“Dean?” Cass says. “Dean, what’s going on?”

He hesitates just long enough to get tackled. The machete goes flying and yeah, that’s his tailbone he just landed on and that’s a  _ definite _ bruise. 

“Who’s this?” Jenny sneers in his face, one hand clawing a grip into his chin, before looking up. “Honey, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

She bashes his head down once. Twice. His vision blurs as he struggles. 

On the third lift, the weight abruptly disappears from his body. Dean blinks, rapidly, to try and clear his vision.

Then there’s a scream and he knows what’s happened. Distressed by this turn of events, he yells out, “Cass!” The way it echoes in the alley and his pounding head brings back memories he’d rather not consider.

Instead he rolls over, stretching to reclaim the machete, and gets his feet under him. Jenny has Cass pinned up against the dumpster. In two lunging steps, Dean’s there. He yanks Jenny back by the damn pony-tail and cuts her head clean-off. When he lets go of the hair in distaste, the head falls and rolls, coming to a stop against Cass’s ballet flats. 

_ Oh right. Cass. Blind date. Shit.  _

His gaze rises from her shoes to her fearful, blood-spattered face. He glances down at his own damp chest and realizes there’s quite a bit on him as well. Briefly, Dean thinks about making a joke in poor taste about Jenny being a squirter. (He mindfully refrains.)

And so he gives her the talk.

Monsters are real, things do indeed go bump in the night, and him and his brother and his best friend and his brother’s girlfriend and others out there in the country hunt them and save lives. The whole shebang. 

She takes it in stride and he likes her for that. She goes to take a closer look even when he explains that Jenny was a vamp and reaches out to touch a fang—“careful,” he says, and she quickly withdraws her hand—but still, he likes her even more for that. 

Cass is a nice honest girl though, and when Dean walks her back to the car, lets her see him put the machete away in the real trunk of the Impala and pull out a body bag for the vamp, she makes it clear: she doesn’t want in on any of that and she’s letting him know prompt and up-front. 

He smiles sad and easy, leaning back on the now closed trunk. 

“I guess I should say thanks for getting in there earlier,” Dean says, despite knowing he had it covered till she interrupted—still. “Things wouldn’t have been too good.”

“Yeah...yeah, I uh, work third-shift you know? So I took some self-defense classes a while back.” She kicks at a rock on the sidewalk.

Cass is standing next to the parking meter Dean ignored earlier and while he looks, she glances toward the alley again, before looking back at him with a laugh.

“You know, I feel like  _ I _ ought to be the one saying thank you for your service or something,” she jokes weakly. 

Dean laughs. “My kid would probably say something like braver than the U.S. Marines.”

Cass blanches. “Your kid? Yeah, I’m sorry, but if there hadn’t been—” She flaps one hand wildly between the car and the alley— “all this, that would’ve been the deal-breaker. You seem real sweet, but I’m not looking to be a stepmom.”

“I thought Sam or Eileen would’ve mentioned Jack,” he hedges, sheepishly running a hand through his hair. “But I understand. All of it, you know. It’s a lot.”

“I’m gonna…” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder towards the diner’s door, “just go ahead and pay for our food before heading out.” At Dean’s protests, she continues, “No, no, I insist. If you’re really out here, dealing with things like that every other day…least I can do is buy you a burger.” 

He barely manages to say thanks before she’s disappeared back inside. 

Well. Back to business.

Dean hefts the body bag into the dumpster and shifts some other trash on top. It’s not ideal and it isn’t broad daylight anymore, but he doesn’t want to take his chances hauling a body bag into his trunk right now nor does he want to leave a vamp body rotting in any old alley. He can come back later. 

He stands in the shade of the alley, feeling absolutely disgusting, and in the light at the end, he sees Cass leaving the diner and walking away.  _ Thanks Sam, thanks Eileen. You gave it a shot, but  _ why  _ all that talk about someone “in the life” if you were gonna set me up with this girl? Why this?  _

Sighing deeply and rubbing his hands off on his jeans, he digs in his pocket for his cell. He scrolls through the short list of contacts and his thumb hovers over  _ Cas _ . His other fist clenches. Man, he doesn’t wanna be a dick and interrupt Cas’s date. Who knows— maybe he could be getting lucky with some gal right now. 

He backs out of contacts, fires off a terse text announcing the failure of the date to Sam and Eileen, switches back. His thumb hovers again, hesitating. Then the entire screen flashes, and what do you know?

_ Cas _ is  _ calling  _ him. 

**\---**

**7:15 pm**

Cas is sitting across from Dean, drinking a honey-infused oolong tea, and just... taking him in. 

Over the phone, Dean had told him about the vamp, but watching him dig into the pie now, Cas can almost imagine that the remaining blood spatter across his clothing and skin are just drips of cherry filling. Unconsciously, he licks his lips.

He catches Dean’s eyes dropping with the movement. When his eyes flick back up and catch Cas watching, his cheeks redden slightly.

  
Dean coughs and Cas slides his glass of water towards him. In turn, Dean shoves the plate of cherry pie towards him.   
  


“Here,” he says roughly, “you want any?”

Cas thinks for a moment and then: “No.” 

“Hmmph,” Dean takes a reluctant sip of Cas’s still proffered water, and then pulls the plate back. “Well, how’d your date go, Cas? You didn’t say much over the phone.” 

When he asks, Cas flashes back to watching the Impala rumble up outside the window. He’d been closer and had arrived first at their usual table. Dean would probably like Abel’s motorcycles.

“Abel was nice. We both know there’s not gonna be a second date, but I’m glad we met.”

“Abel,” Dean takes a sip of his coffee. (Decaf, Cas had told the waitress. He doesn’t think Dean’s noticed.) “Weird name for a girl.”

Oh. “Dean,” he says, slowly, waiting for his full attention to return from the pie. “My date was with a man.” 

The steady gears that were propelling Dean’s fork to shovel pie into his mouth ground to a stop. 

Cas stares at him placidly.  _ Sam and Eileen _ , he wonders briefly, _ just what were you planning with all this? _ When the moment drags out, he arches one eyebrow and continues. 

“He’s a mechanic in the next town over. I’m not sure where you’ve been going for parts when you do repairs on the Impala, but I was thinking you may have met him, even.” Cas shifts back, bringing his hands down to fold together in his lap. “Though his specialty is motorcycles. The way he talked about them... it reminded me of you and the Impala.”

Dean coughs again, this time shooing away Cas’ water when his hand comes up to offer it once more. 

**.** **.** **.**

Their conversation dies down for a moment into comfortable silence as Dean turns his full attention to the pie, but it’s not too long before his stupid brain decides to pipe up again.

“Well if he sounds anything like me, I’m sure he’d have been a great guy for you.” Dean says, unthinkingly, before sputtering, “I mean not that I—not that we—I mean I think that a man with mechanical skill like that has potential, is all.” 

Cas hmms, thoughtful. “Well your date, what was her name—?”

“—Cassidy,” Dean provides.

“Yes, Cassidy sounded quite nice, too. You know, with my grace in and out as it is, I could’ve probably learned a thing or two from her about first aid.”

“Don’t worry that pretty little head too much about it, Cas. Before your magic fingers came along, Sam and I had to make do with motel bathroom emergency rooms more often than not. And Eileen’s got experience, too.” Dean’s hands itch to pat Cas’s shoulder. He settles for a brief pat on his forearm that’s resting on the table before returning safely to his side of the booth. “You’ve got us to teach you, too.” 

Cas’s smile is small and soft and before Dean can help it, he’s thinking back to Cass earlier, smiling down at her food, when he’d felt the urge to look away. He still looks at his Cas. He doesn’t move his gaze one bit. 

He doesn’t compare those moments any further.

“Well c’mon,” he decides to try and goad Cas. “Was that all that you wanted to tell me? That the guy’s a mechanic?”   
  
“I suppose there’s at least one other event of note,” Cas says, deadpan. “Rowena did possess my date, which surprisingly made things slightly more unbearably awkward.”   
  


“Rowena!” Dean’s voice is loud enough to turn a few heads and he lowers it, dropping his head forward too. “What’s my second-favorite redhead doing up-top without saying hello?” 

“Well, she did tell me to say hello to Sam and Eileen. After winking,” Cas says. 

And suddenly, Dean is laughing. He’s a bit pissed he wasn’t included in the greeting card, but he’s laughing. Cas’s bemused expression only serves to send him into further hysterics. 

“Dean,” he says, insistent, “Dean, what’s so funny about that?”

When he finally sucks in a full breath and calms down, there’s still a lilt of humor to his voice that lingers. 

“Cas, man, just look at us,” he gestures expansively across the table between them, “I get bloodied up on a hunt mid-date, you make a mess and your date gets possessed by  the Queen of Hell,  I mean—” and he dissolves into giggles again, though don’t you dare call them that.

Even if the full humor is lost on him, even Cas begins to chuckle a bit. Dean continues, leaning forward. Cas leans in too— a bit too close, maybe.

“I mean, there was a case not that long ago, ya know? Me and Jack went. And he asked me about love and courtship and all that jazz. It was some necromancy shit—a girl brought her boyfriend back to life and he asked... he asked if that was love. And I told him, well, love can get crazier than that. I—”

He shakes his head, exasperated and amused. “I guess what I’m saying again is just, look at us, Cas. This was day one, date one, and think how crazy it would sound for you or me to explain this to anyone  _ but us _ .”

“True, I suppose,” Cas says back, “Love seems quite complicated, especially if you don’t know how to start.”

Dean looks up to find Cas staring right at him as he says that shit, eyes boring into his soul. All of sudden, they _ are _ too close. Definitely too close. He sits back, pulling his plate in again. 

He changes the subject, if only briefly, setting his wallet on the table. “Ya know, if we’re not getting anything else here, we should probably order that other stuff to go and get the check already. No point in leaving everything to the last minute for the poor waitress stuck with us chuckleheads.” 

“Of course,” Cas agrees, reaching into his discolored trench coat, “I’ll pay for tonight.” 

Before Dean can begin his protest, the waitress walks by then, almost perfectly timed. They pass along their usual order to-go, and she winks as she sets down the check, everything already written there. “I’ve picked up a sense for you two,” she smiles, “can always tell when you’re getting the works.” And then she leaves and they both make a grab for the stupid sheet of paper. Cas gets a hand there first. 

“Cas, Cas—” Dean says, mouth now disgustingly full of cherry pie, “what the fuck does it matter when we’re both using Charlie’s hacked cards, huh. What is the friggin’ point when—”

“Dean—” and you think he’d be used to it, but the gravelly sound of that voice saying his name sometimes still makes him want to clear his throat in sympathy, “last time we ate here you said we were going to go dutch and take turns. Now that means I should—”

“—No, Cas. ‘Going dutch’ is we both pay for our own thing and—”

“Well, then why did you pay for us both last time when you said that?” 

  
Cas takes the moment of opportunity that is Dean’s sputtering to slide the pie plate away and take a bite. A good balanced one with crust, filling, and whipped cream. 

"Changed your mind, huh?" Dean accuses, but there's no real menace behind the words. He watches as Cas closes his eyes and chews thoughtfully.

In belated retaliation, Dean goes to snatch the receipt, but it’s gone. He looks up to see Cas opening his eyes and also holding up the receipt between two fingers of his left hand. 

Dean grumbles, “Well, how’d it taste to you anyhow?” 

“Now?” Cas pauses for consideration. “Half molecules, half sickly sweet. I still think the taste depends on the type of food for some reason. When I eat that sugary cereal Jack likes, I only taste the cereal.”

“Hm.” Dean’s turn for consideration now. While he’s pretending to think it over, he makes an abrupt grab for the bill that Cas is still lording over him. Cas, of course, angel of the quick reflexes, soldier and warrior, has it out of sight before his hand even gets close. 

With his other hand, Cas slides the plate of pie back towards Dean, smiling sweetly with a glint of amusement in his eye. 

  
“Go ahead,” Cas says, “I don’t want any more.”

Dean swallows, glancing away from that look, and digs into the last bites of his pie. 

**\---**

**9:30 pm**

Curled up on the batcave couch with a movie as they are, Sam is still able to hear the telltale rumble of the Impala pulling in. Both had texted about their respective date failures, but only Dean had then texted about meeting up with Cas and grabbing some dessert. When he shifts, Eileen looks up at him and he signs to her, “ _ Dean’s home.” _

She sits up, smiling at this and he matches her grin, but then she stops smiling and asks, “No Cas?”   
  


“Let’s go see,” he says and signs, and Eileen jumps up and reaches back to pull him off the couch. They crash into each other for a moment and linger there, but then Eileen snatches his hand and tugs. “You said it yourself, let’s go!” 

Sam laughs and lets himself be pulled along, but not before reaching back to pause  _ Bee Movie,  _ playing out across their screen. It’s Eileen’s favorite, and at this point, a tradition for them on “destiel date nights.” 

When they reach the door, Dean is nudging it open, hands full of pastry boxes. He looks up, catching them staring . “Now you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help a brother out?”

Choosing to humor him, Sam steps up to hold the door open and Dean beelines for Eileen, bowing as deeply as his bowlegs will take him to dramatically lift the boxes above his head. “My lady,” he says with as much flourish as he can manage.

She laughs with delight, clapping her hands together, and Sam’s so distracted by her, he almost misses Cas stepping in behind Dean, carrying a left-over box in hand. 

Almost perfectly timed, as Eileen begins to take the boxes clearing one of his hands, Dean reaches back and gently catches Cas’s shoulder. “Hey buddy, could you grab the pie I left in the back? Forgot cuz I was so worried about my best girl Eileen here,” and Sam watches him turn back, presumably for an exaggerated wink if he knows Dean at all. 

Setting his box on the counter, Cas just smiles indulgently at the hand on his shoulder, and then at Dean. “As you wish,” he says. 

Sam watches with barely contained glee as a blush rises on Dean’s cheeks. Over his head, he makes eye contact with Eileen and recognizes the same expression on her own face. They’ve had  _ Princess Bride _ movie nights before—everyone standing here recognizes the implications just made. 

All pastries now off-loaded, Dean claps his hands together loudly, pointedly looking away as Cas steps back out the door. 

“Well, uh, make sure Cas locks Baby, and considering all this gunk on me, I’ll go ahead and shower now. Yeah. Thanks for trying on the whole date thing but, yeah.” 

He shoots them desperate finger-guns and then all but flees the room. 

When Cas returns after only a moment and puts the pie in the fridge, Sam lets the door shut and returns to Eileen’s side. Then he ventures a question.

“Was... was dinner and dessert good, Cas? After, ya know, everything?”

“Oh yes,” Cas says, slow and thoughtful, “Dean had us meet at that Honeybee Diner I like on the edge of town and we commiserated over the complications of love. We’ll both have to give it a try again .  Abel was quite nice — but still, thank you both despite today’s mishaps.” 

He looks down then at his own messy appearance and adds on, “I better go get cleaned up as well. Goodnight you two.” And he’s off down the hall after Dean.

Eileen turns to Sam and signs, "Maybe we should just set them up on a blind date with each other?"

Down the hall, they suddenly hear Dean yell, “CAS, WE LEFT YOUR CAR AT THE DINER.”

There’s a pause.

“SHIT. AND THE BODY.” 

Sam signs back, sighing: “I think they’re beyond help.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this and hope y’all enjoyed reading it! :))) If you liked this and are interested in more, lmk via comments, kudos, or hmu @that-one-fandom-chick on tumblr! Maybe I’ll try my hand at a blind-date w/ each other follow-up or a speed-dating version based on tumblr user hotgirlcastiel’s reply to the post that inspired all of this <3


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